A Night at the Opera

GM: Scurry Players: Posh, Lost, Blackheart, Macro Synopsis: Posh's Azzie contact Consuela has a problem that requires an immediate solution: the rescue of a double-agent lost in the field. The double-agent has been programmed to play the role of Carmen, whose Aztech ending will include a true stabbing of Carmen. Before blood is spilled on stage in front of powerful Aztech executives and aristocrats to Consuela's public humiliation, there is one last chance for salvation: The old switcheroo. Posh, Lost, Blackheart and Macro must invade the Aztech sector, attend the opera, and swap the double-agent with the wife of the enemy who seeks to end Consuela's career. Of course, it wouldn't be a true Night at the Opera without a lot of drama, double-double agents, secret passages, surprises, and at least one Phantom… Date: 9/13/2075 Rain slashes across the dark street as the dame makes her way across, into the discreet office rental space. Posh and Blackheart had taken their bikes, both of the chicas resplendent in bright red lipstick and gang colors. Posh has gone for her proper self this time - red hair, creamy pale skin, wicked eyes. She turns back to her friend and comrade, a quick smile for the mage with the mullet and the mirror shades. "All right. Stay on the lookout. This job tip was novahot, Blackheart," she says. "I don't know how they'll want to set up the meeting, but let's not get touchy over the deets." The meeting place is a faceless highrise in what used to be downtown Denver. At this hour, people come and go. One has to admire Consuela's timing: in the rain, everyone hurries, everyone is gray, and no one stops to observe. Posh is greeted not by a receptionist, but by two armed guards standing to the right of the office. "Please identify yourself," One of the guards says. There is still a smoking cup of coffee on the desk. Posh dips her head politely to the two guards, and provides credentials for one Vivian Lane. The credentials are taken, checked, cross-checked and presumably verified— the guard who accepts them leaves to do this. He returns minutes later and returns the credentials to Posh. "Vivian Lane, your presence is required on Floor 37. Your company is not authorized. Your presence, and yours alone, are authorized." Blackheart nods her head, the drizzling rain beading and rolling down her leather as she sets her bike on its kickstand. She makes her way under an awning for some shelter, leaning against the wall next to a neon sign just to look cool. "Deep your guard up, don't get many meetings in this part of town." -----> Contact for Posh (#11342) <----- Contact Name: Consuela Gallarda Level: 2 Type: azzie j GM Note: Posh helped out Conseula remove a couple of difficult customers from real estate that she'd been assigned to secure. People like Consuela do not achieve their positions by dealing poorly with emotions like fear or tragedy. To read a woman like Consuela requires attention to detail. In this case, 90 stories are blocked out and Floor 37 is the only one whose button lights up. Posh may even notice the fact that the lighting is battery operated, not using juice from the building's systems. Whatever else she may say, Consuela is very serious— and very seriously worried— about something. Posh arches an eyebrow as she looks at the building. Resource conservation. Conseuela is either wounded, or thinks she needs help. Either way, that is going to be dangerous. Posh chuckles a bit, imagining the woman who had her beat up old ladies with no compunction…then again, she was the woman who /beat/ up the old ladies at the time with no compunction. She smiles a little bit. Hey, nobody had died… She presses the button, hopefully lighting it up. Bing! The ride to Floor 37 is quiet and solo. The guards do not even look at Posh after she passes. Their attention is trained on the door. The elevator closes. In the interim silence, Posh can see the floors passing slowly. Even the elevator is being powered by something other than the internal energy sources. No counter tracks the floors in between. No noise is made. Finally, the elevator simply stops, the doors open, and a belated "ting" sounds off like a gunshot. Floor 37 is completely dark. There is not a soul around, and the office space consists only of a holovid in front of the windows. Rain runs down the slick glass, and it is all the more dim but for the single blue light of a button in front of the screen. Posh simply says nothing, although the tension of the moment is undeniable. She sets a hand on her hip and awaits. The pregnant pause evaporates at the sound of the 'ting,' she fixes each guard with a quick smile, and then moves to enter, regardless of whether or not they follow. She approaches the glass - not close enough to be able to be pushed in, although that's a silly fear to have at this point, and waits. After a moment, she begins to look around for a 'No Smoking' sign, as she gets the urge to reach into her shoulder bag for her pack of smokes. Hey, might as well make yourself comfortable. Guards stayed on the first floor, never followed. Posh was alone. There is no "No Smoking" sign. This building has "Shell Corporation" written all over it, and not much else. This close, Posh can see a steaming cup of rich, dark cocoa in front of the button. The blue button blinks once every few seconds. It begs to be pushed. Posh shakes herself out of her lack of attention, wishing she had a nice soykaf to clear away the spiderwebs. It had been a late night, actually, working out a few kinks in her plans. She jams a finger on the blue button. If it's going to beg… Hmmmmm, the sound of technology makes. The entire window lights up in front of Posh, bleeding electric blue glamour over the window. As a filter, the digital pulse refracts what dim light there is and bounces it between the rain drops until the skyline of Denver is artificially sharpened. Against this hostile background, Consuela's image fades in. She sits in shadow, and the tone of her skin is impossible to discern. Her features are present but difficult to make out. "Vivian," Consuela says. Her hands flick a lighter, casting her face as sharp resolutions that burn as afterimages until only the red glaring butt of the lit cigarette stands out. "So glad that you answered my call. How are things?" Posh's lips spread slightly at the use of that name - but after all, it's one that the Aztlan operative has conveniently known her as. "Hello, Director Gallarda," she greets, tempted and motivated by the desire to mirror behavior, to reach into her purse finally and bring out her pack. She's on English Ovals these days. She lights one of the smokes and takes the gentlest of little puffs, pulling in lightly to give herself just a taste and a little harshness to breathe in, the nicotine focusing her. Consuela pulls in another drag and exhales with a chuckle. "Straight to business?" She drolls. Her accent would better be described as "lazy" than any real accent. "We have too much history for formalities, querida. Please. A sip of the cocoa. It is real, exported just for you. A true Aztlan recipe. Watch out, it is a bit spicy." She gestures vaguely to wherever the steaming cup of hot chocolate is— in this case, off to Posh's left. "Something to warm your hands." Posh arches an eyebrow and then can't resist, reaching for the cocoa. A little shrug, and she reaches for it. "Not necessarily. It's certainly one of the more dramatic meetings that I've been a party to," she says, allowing her words to lilt out in her natural accent. Gallarda is a hard woman to deal with, and she has as few layers of deception up as possible - a strategy, to help her focus. "In any case," Posh says. "I might have to use this myself sometime. Does the facility rent out by the hour, or is this sort of an Aztlan-owned and operated thing?" she asks. "I have people who pay attention to those things," Consuela replies. It is not a rebuke; it isn't a reprimand. It is the automatic response of someone answering honestly about pulling the levers of power. "I have people who do many things for me. It was a long time ago that we tag-teamed a couple women, wasn't it?" Consuela chuckles again, slowly; there's a hesitation for Posh to pick up on. Either Consuela is actually hurt, or something else is going on. Either way, the cocoa itself is beyond delicious. It has the crude, raw flavorings that are a billion miles away from the narrow, impossibly-specific overtures of synthfood. And it is a bit spicy— there's pepper in there. It is also warm; Consuela's people are good at what they do. "Are you familiar with the opera Carmen, Posh?" "I'm a bit of a mom and pop shop, you could say," replies Posh, grins. "You know, the plucky entrepreneur, squashed like a bug by the big corporate guys," she says. "It is what it is." She takes a puff of her cigarette and watches, delighted at the flavor of the cocoa, and it warms her. "Vaguely," she says. "Woman flirts with soldier, then with bullfighter, soldier gets angry and kills her, victim-blaming wrapped in beauty?" she asks. "I'm a bigger fan of Tosca." "Oh, I adore Tosca," Consuela replies immediately, waving a hand as if rhapsodic— and then suddenly stopping. "It took an Italian composer to show Wagner how to do his own work. And isn't that appropriate for what I am about to request of you. "One of my operatives was caught in media res. She is the best double-agent an employer could ever hope to kill themselves, one day." The butt lights up red as Consuela takes another drag. "She is being held by one of my main competitors. She is to sing the role of Carmen," Consuela says, her tone shifting suddenly to deep amusement. "Are you familiar more specifically with how Carmen ends? Victim-blaming old-fashioned style, where the whore gets the knife. There are two realities to this situation that I need rectified immediately. "The first: She is my agent, and now everyone knows. This is a matter of face for me, Posh. Of everything. I cannot have her eliminated in front of Society. The opera-going crowd in Aztlan likes Carmen specifically because we make the best use of the ending. The other players cannot see my agent go down. "Secondly, independent of all of this, I happen to hate the wife of the man who caught my agent. He is a wealthy executive, not unlike myself, and I think his wife is a far better mezzo soprano than my agent. They will both be in attendance. How do you feel about a night at the Opera, Posh?" "In media res, or in flagrante delicto?" asks Posh. "I feel like that would be a delightful evening, I must say…" She chuckles a bit, and then nods. "All right. Your agent, and the wife, only, no trace," she says. "Is that correct?" she asks. "What about collaterals?" she asks, setting a hand on her hip. "You've never been quite so concerned about your image before, Consuela…" says Posh, perhaps a little concerned, a little thoughtful. "You've known it's impossible to remain untarnished. Tell me what the threat is, or the issue, and I will seek to help you," she says. "After all..as you say, we do go back." Consuela laughs, a short bark, and puts a hand to her side. "In flagrante delicto is by far too much euphamism to be tolerated here. Believe me, even between us, we do not have the patience to pretty-up the truth. As I said, double-agent. She's good at her work, but apparently star-crossed lovers happen even to double-agents." "More importantly, my bosses are going to be there, Posh." Consuela says simply. She accents nothing, and she doesn't need to— this would be the end. The gravitas of the reality drifts down against the smoke. "All of them. The official bosses, and the unofficial bosses. The payroll, and… The Payroll," She murmurs. "This is the wealthy and the powerful. There can be no collateral. Security will be very high. Weapons will be for guards only. I can only get you and three other people into the Opera. I suggest magic and etiquette. There is zero room for error here." Posh gives a nod. "I understand," she says. "Zero room for error. And no weapons." She is thoughtful. "All right. What resources do you have available that I might call upon to assist? And how soon is the opera?" she asks, wishing that she'd acquired those Spanish and Nahuatl linguasofts already. She'll have to get in touch with Dean about a couple of those. "As of right now, you have exactly twenty three hours until the Opera begins," Consuela says. "For this, I have few tricks I can pull. I have little to offer you: all of my resources are being watched, Posh. They expect me to make a move. So I am holed up here, and…" She waves a hand as she trails off. "Everything I had to spend, I spent on this phonecall, four passes into the Aztlan Sector, four tickets, and exactly two positions working backstage for two of your agents. Get my agent Maria out of alive, get Don Caroligna's wife on stage in disguise, and get the hell out for fifty kay a head." «Plot» Posh says, "So, quickly. I'm going to have to acquire some gear. Namely, a disguise kit and two sets of linguasofts." Posh gives a nod. "I see," she says, with a nod. "Very well," she says. "That's a tight schedule, but you know I'll take this for you," she says. "Two positions working back stage. Four passes. Very well," she says, with a nod. "I've got what I need to do, and I have a few ideas. I can pull this off for you, Consuela," she says, firmly. "You have my utmost confidence, Posh." Again, a statement of fact. "I'm forwarding you now the opera schematics, the identity and likely location of Don Caroligno, his wife's information, et cetera." Consuela waves a hand at the minutiae. "My agents downstairs will give you the tickets and passports you require. Is there anything else I can answer?" -----> Contact for Posh (#11342) <----- Contact Name: Dean Moriczek Level: 1 Type: skillsoft dealer GM Note: Dean is a rather all purpose source for dealing with skillsofts, and is a regular supplier for some of Vic Martin's skillwire and soft driver packages. Stats: Int 5, Negotiation 5. Specific contact for Skillsofts of all types. The message goes out to three of Posh's compatriots. Posh has decided to go with people she can properly count on - and that means going back to basics. The Omens. This job is a killer tip - and we do mean killer. So Posh figures that she needs folks who can watch her back. Then she needs something a little more…someone in the brain department. An egghead. And so that's the odd one out, Lost, the only one not jumped into the gang, each of the others given a prime chance to wear their colors in the darkened office of the Dangerous Curves shop, Posh's security outside. "Well," she says, handing around fresh cups of soykaf. "Thanks for coming," she says. Macro grins as he wraps his hand carefully around his cup. "Eh, I was in the neighborhood anyway, nuthin' better ta do, ya know how it is…" "What's shakin, Posh?" Blackheart wonders. the meeting had gone on very long, and Blackheart had gone for a walk while Posh had hashed things out with the fixer. She draws her mirror shades off and hangs them by one arm in her collar before getting a cup of soykaf. She winks to Macro and nods her head. Posh nods. "Well," she says, activating her arm-mounted white noise generator and shrugging a little bit, taking a sip of her own sweetened, creamed coffee. "We're going to do something very simple, and very complex. My friend has something of a rival, you see, who's captured one of her field agents. She's scheduled to be killed tonight in a performance of Carmen in the Aztlan sector - playing the lead, you see. Slotted personachip, I think. We're to rescue the agent, and put in her place, so that the show goes on, the wife of the rival of my friend," she says. "Azzie politics - dramatic indeed," she says, with a hand on her hip. "My contact has provided four tickets and four passes, two cover IDs as maintenance workers, and I've secured a disguise kit, a skillsoft jukebox for you, Blackheart, so that you and I can both chip our Spanish and Nahuatl languages. Lost and Macro will be the local hired help," she says. "I've got a few ideas on how to proceed, but we've got less than a day to get ready," she explains. "We certainly can't get in a firefight in the Azzie sector. They'll be armed to the teeth. So we've got to do this one without a firefight, entirely," she says. "I was thinking Lost could cover for us while we find a way to lure the target to a place where Macro can knock her out with a mop or something, and then we disguise her and make the swap," she says. "Probably Lost could get ahold of a maintenance cart or something, so that she could be moved while knocked out, disguised, and hidden. That cart could also carry the disguise kit around," she suggests. "It's a huge, deadly job, right in the heart of Azzie. And we can't afford mistakes. But we're looking at a haul of two hundred grand for this one," she says. "What's our mark's situation? Is she guarded? Will she be missed in the mean time?" Blackheart wonders, sipping her hot drink after listening to the brief. "That will be the hard part." Macro grimaces. "Gotta love Azzie production values," he mutters, then his eyes go wide when Posh mentions the payout. "That'll come in handy…" Posh nods. "So it's sort of the old switcheroo. That was specific in the parameters - the target should die in place of the extraction target. And we get the extraction target out alive, too," she says. "Our mark is probably going to be guarded - she's attending the opera with her husband," she replies to Blackheart. "Indeed it will, Mac," she says. "I'll admit, I'm out about thirty grand in purchasing the supplies needed for this plan. I'm also seeing if my contact can get me floor planes of the target venue," she says. Lost appears in the office at the agreed upon time with her usual punctuality, and once inside, she commandeers a chair and makes herself comfortable, giving a slight nod and a friendly smile in greeting to all those present. Once Posh begins to speak, though, she focuses on listening, and seems to agree with Blackheart before Posh elaborates, "So, we have to kidnap the mark during the production? That's… a wrinkle." Sighing, she shakes her head before continuing, "I gotta admit, I'm a little wary of taking a job in the middle of Azzie territory. I mean… normally, I wouldn't expect a whole lot of really /nasty/ security at an opera. But considering all the pieces in play, here… this is starting to sound pretty fantastically dangerous." Shifting in her seat, she takes a moment to breathe before focusing on Posh again, "In any case, I'm definitely in favor of trying to avoid /any/ kind of fight, but for that kind of money…" The dark-haired elf purses her lips, fidgeting in her seat, "All I'm saying is we're going to need one hell of a plan here. So what have you got?" Macro tilts his head, considering. "Get me a mop an' a relatively clean uniform my size an' colors, I can probably do the janitor schtick. Scum o'the earth don't get looked at closely anyway…" Blackheart blinks and frowns, "Aw, shit, we have to kidnap her during the performance? Jeeze, Posh.." She bites her lip. "Do we have a body double for her, so that she's not missed? I'm thinking a cloth with ether in the washroom, then get her double to be seen elsewhere. We then do the backstage switcheroo, plugging her into whatever mind control you have on tap." "No, we don't have a body double, and I'm not sure that we'd be able to come up with this one on short notice. We'll have to lure her away, perhaps during intermission," she says. "After all, apparently this is a real character…given that my friend has it out for her so bad," she says, frowning a little bit. "I don't have any mind control on tap. I think for that part of the performance she can just be unconscious. Or we can slot any chip or ASIST device that the gal we're rescuing has stuck on her. Macro nods. "So we retrieve the target, sneak her into the opera, and then find a good moment to swap her with the lead before the grand finale?" "Hmmm, who was it that had that magical disguise mask?" Blackheart wonders. "This goes a lot more smoothly if the target's security isn't searching for her. Anyways, what's the theater's security setup? Do they rely on the audience for security, or do they have their own goons?" Posh shakes her head. "The target is already going to be attending the opera," she says. "I think they'll have their own goons, but not too many. Likely there's a lot of reliance at the audience. And likely the ushers will be armed too. That's why I'm so keen on Macro being there with a mop - we need a one hit knockout, guaranteed, because any window we have are likely to be very short," she says. "We have to be very clear about this. There are two targets. A captured agent we are rescuing, and the one we are forcing to take her place. The captured agent is being forced to perform as Carmen, and she will be killed at the climax for the delight of the Azzie audience. We are to kidnap this woman attending the performance, the rather evil wife of an Azzie exec who set this execution up in the first place, and we are to swap her with the thing. I don't think we need a replacement for her - if we have some way to bait her away from her seat, legitimately, for a few minutes she won't be missed, likely," she says. "If they have personal security, they're probably waiting outside." "Depends," Macro replies. "Posh enough place'll probably insist the hired help stay outside, but that generally means they got their own rent-a-goons ta keep things safe inside…" "That's true. But legacy facilities like opera houses usually were built before modern security, and are going to have gaps. The bathrooms…we just have to find to create some opportunity. A reason why the target might be away from her seat for an undefined, not too short amount of time, but it doesn't have to be too long. What if we find some way to place her in…intestinal distress? A little laxative in her wine during intermezzo? "Hmm, if we're hired help, we could spike her drink during intermission or something. Get her to go to the washroom, then do our thing. Do you have any diuretics on your shopping list?" Blackheart wonders, sipping her soykaf. "Or, if you can charm her up, maybe share some novacoke with her and draw her away." "I ain't that much of a ladies' man, hard as it may be ta believe," Macro says with a grin. Posh gives a chuckle with Macro. "How do you feel about clonking an evil lady who's killed dozens?" she asks. "Anyway, like I said, we have two passes and sets of uniforms for maintenance crew. I was thinking Lost and Macro would take those. Unless you think Lost can run better game than you, Blackheart?" she asks. "The reason I picked you to brazen it out with me is that you have a datajack. You'll be able to slot the linguasofts. Mac and Lost can't." Lost nods, "Ok… well, if we're only expecting personal security and whatever the opera might have on hand…" She grins, nodding again, "This is starting to sound more and more doable. I dunno how long I'll be able to pass as a maintenance worker that doesn't speak the language of the land, but I'm sure I'll be able to manage somehow." Leaning back in her seat, she crosses one leg over the other, "Ok, so we insert shortly before the intermission, we spike the evil lady's drink and knock her out once she's isolated. Then we perform the ol' switcheroo. Let's assume it all goes off without a hitch. How do we get out? I don't want to be anywhere NEAR the Azzie border once they realize the switch." "Shouldn't be a problem," Macro replies. "Not like the janitor's likely ta get talked to a lot." "Sounds good," Blackheart nods her head. "Is this a little black dress affair, or do they dress up in costumes in Azzie?" she wonders, then nods to Lost, "We'll need a couple getaway vehicles for sure," she agrees. Posh gives a grin. "Hrm," she says. "Do you think that means Blackheart should be slotted with the language, in the maintenance crew, and then maybe you should be with me, perhaps as my guest?" she considers. "I figure that trodes would be too obtrusive for you, Lost," she says. "As for extraction…well, we have to get her out of the building first, then out of the country. I can talk to a smuggler contact to get us all back to Denver," she says. "This one will be little black dress with a touch of Aztec, I suppose." Posh gives a grin. "Now, though, remember, this is going to be in the Azzie sector, but I think it's still pretty near the border. In general, city speak is going to be the common language. But the thing is, you're going to be trying to avoid being talked to as much as possible," she says. "I was thinking that whoever goes with Macro should try to get some sort of utility cart, that we can transport the unconscious target in." "Trodes wouldn't bother /me/ much," Lost replies with a smile, "But I don't know how likely it is that a maintenance worker would have one. Either way, I could probably make it work… a simple smile can go a long way smoothing over those kinds of problems. Obviously, best case scenario, no talking is necessary. In any case, it's your call, Posh." She gives a slight shrug before continuing, "Anyway… building plans. We're going to want those, along with a map of the surrounding roads. The faster we can get out of the building after making the switch, the better. If we do it right, we should have plenty of time to figure out the border crossing." Macro grins. "Ork in a jumpsuit with a cart an' a mop. Better'n an invisibility spell any day of the week…" Posh nods. "I think I can get building plans from my contact," she says. "But now I'm thinking the issue you raised is a good one. We might want one person who speaks the language with each group," she says. "Good catch, Lost. How should we split it up?" she asks. "I figure Macro's going to be with the maintenance team, and he doesn't need a language chip. So it's between you and Blackheart who gets it. I suppose you can wear a hat to cover the trodes, after all," she says. "I suppose that's what we need to solidify: which of you will be out front with me, and which of you will be handling any trouble that comes up with Macro, and getting ahold of the security cart," she says. "That task might need language, so I suppose it comes down to whichever you want to do that." She grins at Macro. "Bingo." "Lost probably fits in with high society better than I do," Blackheart says, winking one of her chromed over eyes to the other mage. "I'll hang with Macro, we should be able to take out any trouble that pops up." Posh gives a grin to Blackheart. "All right," she says. "Lost, you're going to be my guest, perhaps you'll be working on a research paper for some fuddy duddy conference," she teases, giving a wink to Lost. "Everyone will speak English, I suppose, at the higher levels, so I suppose that makes more sense. I'll just introduce you as a guest. But it's not like there won't be plenty of foreigners at the opera," she says, with a nod. "All right. Blackheart, that means that you get the jukebox, and a Spanish and Nahuatl linguasoft. It's a two-slot juke, so you can speak both at once," she says. "I had to pay 15k for it," she says - "would it be all right if you kick that back to me once the plot's over? You can either return the juke and softs, or pay me for 'em at that price, which is what I paid. But we can wait for that for the dust to settle," she proposes. "If I'm out front with you, I don't even need the trodes." Lost replies, "I can be your friend visiting from the Tir or whatever, and you can just speak to me in English while I blather on in Sperethiel." She grins, "Besides, if we're dressed well enough, I doubt anyone will give us much of a second look." After a short pause, her grin only broadens, "Well, at least not the sort of second looks we need to be worried about. Or, I can just go with a mousy academic look and tell people I'm writing a paper on neo-Aztec culture or something similar. There's some flex, there." She gives a wink back to Blackheart, "But that should work, that way both teams can understand what's being said." Blackheart gives a chuckle, "You're assuming I'll be alive after this fiasco," she winks. It's going to be awfully awkward pulling a caper like this without her machineguns in hand. Posh gives a grin at Blackheart. "Well," she says. "We're going purely nonlethal, so you've got your close combat skills and magic, in case we get into a pinch, right?" she asks. "We've got Macro with his mop, and you can perhaps break another mop over your knee if you have to," she suggests. "As for me, well, I've got my shock hand and such." She nods to Lost. "All right. It sounds like we have a general plan. We just need schematics from my friend, and then we'll be ready to go." Posh gives a grin as she looks around, the rented black car pulling up to the opera. "All right," she says. "Everyone gone over the plans?" she asks. "No big surprises here, just an outline for how we're going to pull things off. Blackheart and Macro will go in through the staff entrance. They might have to go up to storage, and get a utility cart. Lost and I go in with tickets," she says. "Blackheart and Macro, you've got to get ahold of a utility cart Go and hang around in the service hall behind the bar and wait for intermission." Posh grins. "Now. When intermission happens, Lost and I have to split up. Lost, you create some kind of unholy mess in the bathroom. Spill some awful awakened cologne or something. Meanwhile, I'm going to spike the drink of the target, something to give her an upset stomach. Lost, you call for some help with the mess, and Blackheart and Macro will be there, with utility cart. Macro, you've got to make no one notice you as you go in to help…then Blackheart can say things are okay while you hide in the closet. Blackheart can lookout while she finishes up the cleaning. When the target enters, then, Macro will be in the closet, and Blackheart will be perfectly positioned to distract, or whatever. I will follow in concern, and Lost will continue to play lookout in public, and let us know if there's any security concerns. She can do this via astral communication with Blackheart if she has to, or something," she says. "All right. Everyone with me so far?" "Anyway. Both I and the knocked out target are hidden in the utility cart, which Blackheart and Macro escort up to the cast dressing rooms. THere the three of us neutralize any security that my friend's agent has guarding her, and we pull the 'switcheroo.' That's where we'll have to improvize. I'll have my disguise kit and if I have to, I can pretend to be an understudy or makeup girl, though I suppose my look is a little more Wagner than Puccini." She grins. "Then, Lost exits the main entrance and pulls the car around to the staff entrance, and we all exfil from there. How's that sound?" she asks. "We ready?" "What's this astral communication you speak of?" Blackheart wonders. "Why not just use our microbeads?" She seems content with the state of her bowtie and nods her head, "Otherwise, sounds like a good plan. We can also just use burner cells if you don't think the microbeads will fly." Lost is dressed for the event in a modestly cut but well-tailored black dress and matching black pumps. She's decided to add a pair of frameless glasses to the look for a note of that academic je ne sais quoi. In her car seat, though, she shifts a bit uneasily as she listens to Posh break down the plan. "Ok, I think I can fake a meltdown in the ladies' room. Pretend I got a nasty text from a jilted ex… or, I dunno, an email informing me that I've been denied a tenure track or something. I'll figure it out." She nods in agreement with Blackheart on the topic of communication, "Yeah, we should just be able to use our standard commlines, shouldn't we? Unless you don't want to risk some goon spotting our transceivers?" It was rainy and cool in UCAS. It seems unfair, then, that such a high-security border would transport the group to a dangerous place sans sunshine. Still rainy and cool. But the Aztlan know how to put on a show. Limousines pull up and uniformed people are helped out, escorted to the line, checked for tickets, and let in. Those mixing in with the rabble wait along the long, giant hedge that obscures the opera house. Through the gates to pass, the light is warm and inviting, and deliciously dry air beckons the satin-clad forward for an evening of amusement. Overhead, fireworks burst into red clouds that disintegrate like rubies as they return to earth. Macro grins and shrugs his massive frame into the janitor's outfit, then quickly pats himself down. "How do I look?" he asks before fitting the cap onto his head. "That's just in case the microbeads don't fly, but I think they will," she says, with a little chuckle, dressed for her part in a rather eye-catching red gown, a lot of cleavage on display. However, with all the fine flesh that's likely to be on parade in there, standing out is fitting in, after all," she says. "So we should count on transceivers being okay, but what if there's unexpected jamming, or some such? Just to be prepared. A lot of this will have to be trying to stick to that plan outline while thinking on the fly," she says. "I've got the drug, concealed among my novacoke of course. I've got the disguise kit in my purse. I'm loaded with rebounds in my cyberguns. I think we're all ready for this," she says, wearing her lovely Starlight. She grins at Macro. "Irresistibly hunky," she says, her heart pounding with the thrill of the job. This is a real one - failure at this level would likely lead to a quick death at the hands of security. Lost looks far less impressive than Posh, but that's by design. Much better for the redhead to be the one drawing attention, after all. Looking over toward Macro, the dark-haired elf grins, nodding in agreement with Posh, "And perfectly inconspicuous to boot, which, as nice as it is to look good, the less we're noticed, the better." She takes a deep breath, glancing around the interior of the vehicle before focusing on Posh again, "We were able to get the building plans, right? Do we have a plan for an extract based off that? The quicker we're in and out, the better…" Posh glances at Lost. "The extract is you going and getting the car while the rest of us are coming out of the cast room, then pulling it round to the staff entrance we're dropping these folks off near," she says. "Then, we get the hell out of town, and to our smuggler. The smuggler will arrange for the return of the rental car for us." «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) has the Contact Sara Milczarek with the following information: -----> Contact for Posh (#11342) <----- Contact Name: Sara Milczarek Level: 1 Type: smuggler GM Note: Racism +2 (Humans). Troll woman, age 45. Minor dislike for humans, if only because of the humanocentric Humanis Policlub. «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) spends 2500 nuyen for " Extraction after the job back to Denver". "Okay, let's do this and see if the date matches the plans," Blackheart smiles, fixing her microbead into her ear as she watches the streets pass by. "Drop Macro and I round the back so we're not spotted getting out of the same car as guests." "Save it fer after we finish the job," Macro smirks back at Posh, then gets ready to move out once the car arrives, tapping the bead in his ear once. Commlink-Sticks> "Comms check, everyone on?" Commlink-Blackheart> Blackheart sends, « copy that gold leader » Lost grins sheepishly. "Yes… you said that, didn't you." Looking down, she rubs the back of her neck, taking another deep breath as she tries to get her thoughts organized, "I can do that." She nods once, then again, looking a bit more sure of herself, "We got this, right? Yeah. Null sweat." There's a bright smile for the team before she sets her jaw, clearly trying to make sure her head is where it needs to be for this job, going through a quick commcheck once she's got her headspace right. Commlink-Memory> Lost sends, « Reading loud and clear. » Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « picking you up five by five. » «Plot» Scurry says, "Lost, Blackheart, if either of you have foci/active spells up, please let me know." «Plot» Blackheart says, "my tattoo is going" Commlink-Sticks> "Loud an' clear," Macro nods. "I'll keep on passive while I'm on the job — janitors aren't supposed ta mutter ta themselves." «Plot» Scurry says, "Is it "on"?" «Plot» Blackheart says, "it's always on" «Plot» Scurry says, "Force, por favor." «Plot» Blackheart says, "6" «Plot» Scurry nods. Posh nods at Blackheart as Macro and she are then dropped off, to go round the block and enter the service entrance. She grins to Lost. "All right. You'll take hold of the valet ticket. Then we waltz right into the front entrance." She adjusts her gown, and then as the procedure is completed, she awaits Lost on the front steps of the theater, prepared to enter and display her ticket. Her fiberoptic hair and makeup presents her with the spoofed ID on the pass that Consuela had given her, spoofed IDs that everyone is using temporarily. Blackheart walks alongside Macro to the staff entrance, credentials in hand as she tries out her new elite language skills. "Taquito? Tac.. Taquito por favor? le gustara un poco de vino antes de la feria?" She nods her head, seems to be working. «Plot» Scurry says, "Blackheart, Lost, please roll Int." «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Intelligence: 1 3 5 5 9 10 «Auto-Judge[]» Lost (#4658) rolls Intelligence: 2 2 3 5 5 7 «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Intelligence: 1 3 3 4 5 5 13 15 «Plot-Page» (To: Blackheart and Lost) Scurry says, "The entire Opera house, the grounds themselves, are guarded by an enormous ward. It is the size of the ward that is truly impressive; you both can only dream about the kind of resources it would take to cast such a thing. It is set into the walls of perimeter." Taking the valet ticket from Posh, Lost tucks in into her matching little black clutch before stepping out of the car and smoothing the lines of her dress. Taking a deep breath, she gives a little nod to Posh before putting on a warm smile and heading toward the opera house with her ticket and fake id. She seems to regard the opera house with a touch of awe before subvocalizing over comms, « Whole building is warded, and from the look of things, it's a doozy. Should still be able to cast as needed inside, but no active spells are getting in or out of there. » Posh has slotted her own Spanish and Nahuatl chips, and she bases what language to speak on what she hears as she approaches the guard, giving a smile over to Lost. She'll be able to manage this interaction, getting in at least. In her purse is nothing but the makeup of the disguise kit and whatever of her gear could pass a reasonable metal detector search - nothing fancy like the grapple gun. When the driver comes to a halt, gloved hands open the door for Posh and Lost. A gentleman wearing sunglasses and a warm smile helps each lady from the car before the door is shut. And shut quietly, so as not to startle either. He only examines the ticket just to see the ticket, and whatever he sees does not warrant a second look. "Good evening, ladies. Welcome to the Caulkins Operahouse. I am pleased to have you join us. Right this way. Your box is number 3." He motions for the two to pass inside. His English is absolutely flawless, in that slightly intimidating manner so rarely achieved by natural speakers. Posh and Lost pass through without an examination. Inside, the trimmed grounds of the Opera house are resplendent. It is not a diverse crowd. Amongst the artistically-trimmed shrubbery and fountains, Aztech citizenry mix and mingle as they move towards the truly impressive doors. Only those of a certain class are allowed to enter at this time, and thus those heading towards the doors are those in the most expensive evening wear. Posh gives a smile at Lost. "Well, at least we get to enjoy the first act. All the best songs are in the first act anyway," she says. She's probably not got the only white noise generator buzzing in the room, so she feels safe about flicking hers on a moment so she can share a brief notice with Lost. "Check out the star, by the way. She's the one we're extracting. I'm guessing personafix, to get her to perform for this grand guignol?" Around back, Blackheart and Macro are greeted with a door slamming open in front of a crowd of people dressed for drudgery. "Get moving," The large man says who steps outside. "Remember the rules: No talking to guests. No looking at guests. You are to stare at the ground at all times. You are never to go anywhere unless told to do so. You are never to question an order given to you. You will be paid tonight /if/ you haven't fucked up." The man pounds on the door with a huge arm to emphasize his point. Macro looks at Blackheart as the two ladies head into the front. "Ya ready ta go round the back?" he murmurs, feeling slightly self-conscious without his usual weapons. Blackheart sighs as she notices the warding on the walls of the opera house. "You've got to be kidding me," she mutters to herself. "They're warding against astral visitors to make sure everyone buys a flippin ticket!" She chuckles and turns off her tattoo until she gets inside. She shows her pass to whoever might be checking passes at the staff entrance and walks into the kitchen, glancing around before heading for the staff hallway. «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Willpower + 10 vs TN 4 for "soaking 4D resistance to activate Increase Reflexes Tattoo. Need 8 Successes to fully soak. Reactivating when inside.": 1 2 2 2 3 4 4 4 5 5 5 5 7 8 11 11 = 11 Successes One nice thing about being a mage, you don't necessarily need to carry anything that's going to set off a metal detector. Getting through the front door with ease seems to relax Lost, who smiles at Posh, nodding. "Yeah. Been awhile since I had an opportunity to take in some culture. Should be fun! Shame I'll have to skip the wine, though." Her smile shifts into a bit of a grin as she takes some time to really look around the place, perhaps taking stock of whatever celebrities might be in attendance, or merely just looking for the best dressed person there. «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 1 for "Servants' Chaos": 1 "Oh, you'll be able to have a little. There's time before the first act," she says, heading to the wine trough for a couple glasses. Because why not? It's an hour, it'll wear off anyway, and she and Lost get to enjoy a date while Blackheart and Macro get to grub around for a utility cart big enough for both the target and her wide derriere. As Macro steps out of the car behind Blackheart his entire demeanor changes - instead of his usual straight-up and alert stance he adopts the slumped shoulders, partial slouch and dull, slightly vapid look of someone who will never achieve more in his life career than mopping the floors. The net result appears almost five inches shorter and roughly thirty IQ points stupider. Blackheart and Macro are coralled into the kitchen area, which is roughly the size of some smaller suburbs. Whatever the asshole who opened the door said, these people know their jobs. There are so many servants and so much to be done that Blackheart and Macro could keep moving without actually doing anything to stay invisible. It's chaos to serve this many people, but it's also a goddamn nightmare to move through. Meanwhile, Lost and Posh are in the Lobby. Whatever restraint was exercised outdoors was murdered inside: every last square inch that /could/ have stucco /does/ have stucco. If it could be guilded, it has gold leaf. Even the frescoes, which must have been tasteful once upon a time, have been smothered by the heavy hand of wealth. There is no wine trough; there is a bar, but it is a find-a-servant situation. This is the elite. «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 1 for "And who approaches?": 4 "I haven't seen you before." An older woman turns to Lost, her face as expensive as her dress. "What an unusually modest style." Her hand reaches out to touch the fabric of Lost's dress, and she really wants to examine it with a critical eye. "To whom are you married?" "Oh, jeeze!" Blackheart is nearly boondoggled as she's thrust into the chaotic kitchen. She quickly reactivates her tattoo with a thought, using her increased reflexes to avoid a catastrophe, all she needs now is to have some Aztec Chef Ramsay freaking out at her! A duck a dodge and a weave later, she's nearing the hallway to the back, hopefully with Macro in her wake. "To a very lucky Don who doesn't mind that she covers up so much," interjects Posh with a smile to the older lady, hoping to save the situation with the rich purr of her accent. "And who are you wearing? Let me guess - your husband had him privately exfiltrated from a design house?" she asks. «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Etiquette + 2 for "Workin' the room": 2 2 2 2 4 4 4 16 «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 4 vs TN 11 for "Etiquette: Woman vs Posh": 3 4 4 29 = 1 Success «OOC» Blackheart says, "yeesh, she's very upper crust!" "Well, guess we should mingle a bit, then." Lost replies, shooting a grin toward Posh. The elderly woman approaching momentarily puts her off, particularly as her personal space is invaded, but she recovers quickly enough to shoot a smile at the stranger. She seems prepared to offer a reply, but Posh seems to have her covered, so she works off that instead, "He likes thinking he's the only one who gets to see me wearing things that are a bit more… flattering." The dark-haired elf says with a smile. "Oh?" The woman says, absent-mindedly removing her hand from Lost. Her expression says it all: There isn't a person alive worth knowing that this woman does not know. At least, within her social circles. She also clearly expects an answer. Macro follows behind Blackheart with a quiet efficiency that might be considered extraordinary if he weren't being so unnotable. He glances around quickly for the janitorial closet, then fetches a cart and a mop. Instant camo. «Plot» Scurry says, "Posh, etiquette + whatever modifiers vs 5, please." «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 1 for "What does Macro find?": 4 Unfortunately for Macro, the only mop to be found is literally a mop and a small bucket. Fortunately for Macro, it's on a cart with an enormous garbage can. One of Posh's eyes narrows slightly at the old woman. "Indeed," she says. "The problem is that the marriage has yet to be approved by his family," she explains. "It's one of those where…let's just say there's a lot riding on things. There's a trial…her father's a bit outspoken…" She rolls her eyes. "Unfortunately, we can't pay for the sins of our parents." She's tried to shift the discussion away from social things to a number of trials that routinely show up in Aztlan dominated countries, where the flame of the Latino liberal intellectual still gutters in some places. <Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Etiquette + 2 vs TN 6 for "Trying to pull off context shift": 1 2 3 3 4 4 8 21 = 2 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 1 for "Batty-woman's reaction": 1 Blackheart purses her lips as she spots Macro and his mop. "Hmm, we might be able to get one of them in that garbage can.. Let's see if we can find a good cart backstage near the lift. We have to get it upstairs to the lady's room during the first act." "A SCANDAL?!" It's one of those whispers that /literally everyone/ can hear. It accomplishes all the work of a whisper, which is to draw suspicion about secrets, and at the time time manages to be heard by goddamn everyone. "How romantic! Of course you want to keep this a secret. When I was your age, I almost ran away with a man myself, but my parents caught me." She laughs, putting a hand to her chest and at the same time, trying to grab Lost's as if that will establish a connection between the two. Posh nods. "Indeed," she says, though she leaves it unspoken that it's not a dirty one that can't be touched by the stuffy. "I'm sure you can understand most would have been deterred by now, but I do hope that we can rely on your discretion," she says. "You see, the scandal goes deeper than even that. For the son might be getting an allowance…but he's a *secret* son." Blackheart and Macro encounter a single guard in the hallway. He's on his pocsec. He glances up, gives them a once-over, and then goes back down. The help aren't worth looking at. At first, Lost turns her gaze a bit toward the ground, looking a bit uncomfortable with the situation, but considering the woman's reaction, she manages a bit of a nervous chuckle before levelling a smile on the woman, "It's all very exciting, truth be told. It would be exciting even without the… complications, but." She doesn't drawn away at all from the touch, her smile only widening as she glances toward Posh, "And, of course, I'm glad you're here to tell the story, You do tell it so much better than I could." Posh grins. "Why, darling, it's ever so fascinating!" she says. "The thing is, you might be the answer to my prayers, mademoiselle," she says to the old bat. "I was wondering…do you know Don Antonio and his wife, Marcela?" she asks. "The thing is…the son is Don Antonio's from a prior engagement." Posh gives the location of the target executive and his wife. "You see, we were looking to find some way to…to break the news to her in private, to let her know of her stepson…and of his happy news. But also to ensure that she supports the Don in this happy but unexpected time," she finished. "Oh, now you're just pulling my leg," The woman says, but with a smile that has her supremely amused. "Save the opera for the actors." She then raises her free arm, and her fingers *SNAP*. A kind of whipcrack reaction. The crowd around them, /to every last person/, pointedly goes back to their conversation. The murmur resumes. Servants appear out of nowhere, and a drink is placed in her hand. She doesn't even bend her wrist, that's the level of certainty that exists. It also starts to become immediately clear where from which social class Scurry learned to imitate mannerisms. "Oh hush, hush. Not here, not so loud," The woman says. "But if I know Marcela, she'll be near the bar," She murmurs, rolling her eyes. "Come. You are such charming company. I prefer the privacy of my box." The only possibility that exists in her world, in this world, is that the doors will be opened and closed when her presence requires such. Her entourage move with her and surrounded Posh and Lost as her desire for privacy heads towards the box. Posh chuckles a bit. "Well, isn't it what you were hoping to hear, madame?" she asks, a little impish in her own mind. She's certainly been trained in an upper crust herself, though perhaps more of a reserved one. However, drinks and privacy certainly do sound good, and invitation into a luxury box is excellent. That information, though, that Marcela will be near the bar, certainly is useful. "I suppose that's where she'll be through intermezzo too, isn't that right?" she laughs, cattily. "She does have such a glowing blush, doesn't she?" <Plot» Scurry says, "Ok! Blackheart and Macro, you two are in the hallway on the map. Pose wherever you wish to go :)" Lost has a bit of a titter as well, particularly as Posh pretty much offhandedly calls the target for the switch a lush. But she fights the urge to regard Posh with awe for the moment, finding herself swept up in the tide of servants that is the woman's entourage. Considering she doesn't have much choice in the matter, she just goes with the flow. After all, the old woman does seem to be pretty entertaining, and maybe if she holds her hand out just so, a glass of wine will appear in it… Blackheart passes by the guard and heads towards the backstage area. THere's bound to be the type of utility cart Posh was talking about back there, with all the heavy things they have to move about with constructing stages. She also takes the opportunity to case the area, looking over the cast and crew, spying on them with astral site as well as normal. «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Intelligence: 1 1 4 4 8 15 «Plot» Scurry says, "Lost, roll etiquette for me." Macro obediently follows behind Blackheart, keeping an eye out for dirty spots that need mopping or dustbins that need emptying along the way - the last thing they need right now is someone yelling at them for not doing their job. «Auto-Judge[]» Lost (#4658) rolls Etiquette: 1 2 5 9 «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "This woman is assuming you are of a class of person that does not wait for anything. They take. You can play bashful, to avoid drinking in public, but your initiative as an ingenue better be a public face you put aside in private. Which makes you wonder what the hell Posh is supposed to be in this scenario." «Plot» Scurry says, "Actually, Posh, you too for Etiquette." «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Etiquette + 2: 1 1 2 2 3 3 3 14 «Plot-Page» (To: Posh) Scurry says, "This woman is of a class, and associates with people of the same class, that does not wait for anything. It's been your brusque demeanor that acted as its own security check. Lost can play the ingenue in public, and let someone else speak for her as you have done. But in private, it's going to be a different story. What is your role here with her?" «Plot» Posh says, "scurry = My role here is that I'm a socialite friend, who attaches herself to interesting situations and advances her network that way. I'm a shark with a smile. I'm going to pretend that I'm a good up and comer. So it's almost like I'm an interviewee, an intern to be this lady thirty years from now." If the kitchen is a madhouse of activity, then backstage right now is the same madness but compressed. The tension in the air is palpable. Ordered chaos is the name of the game as actors and singers, set designers and stage managers, coordinate the last minute business to be handled before the show. It's getting close to curtain call. The cast are dressed and chatting idly between themselves, and the major players are all present. Including, in lush dress and stunning makeup, Carmen. Posh takes a look through a pair of handy opera glasses proffered by some fartcatcher, peeking at the stage as the grand show begins. She tries not to anticipate any of the most famous melodies. Blackheart takes a moment to get out of the way of the stage crew as they run back and forth, making herself look busy with a box and she surveys the area, looking for any hired guards, they should stick out fairly well, with everyone else moving like they have a purpose, the stationary people looking around should stick out like a sore thumb. «Plot» Scurry says, "Are you still astrally perceiving, Blackheart?" Having had some time to read the situation, Lost reacts by snatching a full wine glass out of some servant's hand. She takes a single sip, as if making sure the liquid is fit for consumption, giving a slight nod to herself before beginning to survey the stage, "Oh, how lovely they all are…" She sighs wistfully before glancing down at herself, "I wonder if I shouldn't have chosen a different outfit, but…" She glances toward the older woman with a grin, "The things we do for love." «Plot» Blackheart says, "yup, flipping back and forth" «Plot-Page» (To: Blackheart) Scurry says, "There exists a literal ocean of emotions around here. It's a sickening amount of actual background. There is so much emotion built up over decades that to astrally perceive here is to hear a constantly, thunderous applause." «Plot-Page» (To: Blackheart) Scurry says, "There is relatively little security back here— just one guard. One guard who is an initiate, not masking, with a Watcher spirit circulating." «Plot-Page» (To: Macro) Scurry says, "There is not much security back here, which makes sense to you. After all, there is nothing of value. Regardless of that, you can see the boxes in the wings. Whoever the target is, she isn't going to be back here or even on this floor." Blackheart finishes with her box and tucks it back away, turning away to see if she can spot Macro. The big ork isn't difficult to find and she nods back to the backstage area, "Spotted her. She's got one initiate goon watching over her, there's a watcher spirit flying about as well," she reports, scanning back down the hallway. "We can't do anything back there, otherwise the jig is up." Macro nods. "Adept or spellslinger?" he asks sotto voce while he concentrates on scrubbing a dirty spot. Posh gives a chuckle as she grins knowingly at the old woman. "Well, darling," she says. "Now that you know our game for tonight, I was wondering if you might be able to help us?" she asks. "But for one such as yourself, it would be only a flick of the hand. Though of course…if I were to ask for a reward myself…it might be a backstage pass, I suppose. The toreador is *devilishly* handsome." Blackheart pages: do I know if it's an adept or mage? You paged Blackheart with 'Mage.'. You paged Blackheart with 'Security mage. An adept likely wouldn't have a watcher.'. "Wasn't built like an adept, probably a mage or shaman with the watcher being his," Blackheart clarifies. She thinks for a moment or two, "Lighter security than I thought, but there's probably a squad kitted out in a van outside." "Well, you are not from these parts," The woman says to Lost, after having been comfortably ensconced within the seated box. "Who am I? I am Gloria Ponce de la Verde Juliez-Verron," Gloria says. "Are you quite sure this young man is not marrying you to escape his father's wrath? Bastards are common enough, but they are usually put to work," Gloria considers. "I am somewhat surprised that Oliver has a bastard son. That must explain why Marcela has been acting up lately. She must suspect something. And if you cannot talk your way backstage with your looks, querida," She says to Posh, "There is nothing I can do for you." "Ya sure it's his?" Macro murmurs back. "Way I'd set it up, the Watcher'd belong to whoever's in the backup van, and they move the moment something trips it." Blackheart nods her head, "That's what I'm thinking." She worries on her lip, "or in a panic room inside, the wardings on the wall will be hell for a watcher spirit to get through. Let's check out upstairs, this chica's bound to have a box seat up there." Lost casually sips her wine, glancing between Posh and their new socialite 'friend' every so often, turning her attention toward the stage on occasion. When she's spoken to, she turns to smile at the woman, "The thought /had/ crossed my mind. Though, I'd prefer to believe he's marrying me because of the fire I inspire in his heart… and his loins." She replies with an impish grin, pausing for another sip of wine, and for the woman's reaction. Posh laughs. "Oh, you know. I was feeling lazy today," she says, with a little chuckle. "Oh, she's been acting up lately? How so?" she asks, apparently eager for some good gossip. After all, tit for tat is fair enough - and the one that the Don has a bastard is apparently a juicy one She also grins as the play begins. "Ah, what a lovely soprano tonight. I wonder if it says where she came from in the program." «Plot-Page» (To: Blackheart and Macro) Scurry says, "The stairs leading up are back in the hallway between backstage and the kitchen." "Let me just say, acting up in a way that we do not see very often these days." With that said, the lights dim. The noise from the audience in the Orchestra section quiets immediately; the orchestra starts up. The first Act begins, and the dulcet tones of Micaela begin to question Jose. "One would think she were casting this play herself." Gloria's diamond earrings sparkle red with the reflection of the colors on stage, and she smiles sidelong at Posh and Lost. Blackheart heads back down the hall and spots the elevator. Taking it up, she scopes out the sitelines, looking for security cameras that are keeping an eye on the place. Macro continues his route along the corridor, cleaning as he goes, and certainly not taking notice of cameras and/or patrols, because those aren't any of a janitor's business. Posh gives a grin. "Indeed," she says, lifting an eyebrow. "I heard something about that…that she was making sure that the guignol was…a party to her own issues," she says. "I have to say I find the idea rather impressive. But don't you think it's exactly the sort of thing that sometimes leads to…operatic justice?" she asks. The bar is empty, and there are two security guards in the Lounge Blackheart and Macro find themselves in. They're standing upright, guarding both entrances to the Boxes, and not looking particularly inclined to conversation. "Excuse me, sir. Staff is not authorized to be here. They just left," One of the guards tells Macro. Lost settles in to watch at least /most/ of the first act, shooting a meaningful glance toward Posh after Gloria speaks before turning toward the woman with a slight smile. "Vanity can be dangerous like that." She says, nodding in agreement with Posh's assessment. When we left off, Posh and Lost were seated comfortably with Gloria. Macro was being sent back down, but otherwise has free reign. And Blackheart was told to change her outfit in the coatroom before returning to her post in the lady's powder room. Macro surreptitiously taps his throat mic once he's sure no one can see it, subvocalizing to keep off the audio pickups. Commlink-Sticks> "Guards topside aren't letting a janitor stink up the nice floor. May need to spill somethin' on yer way out…" Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « I'm on it.. » Blackheart makes her way to the powder room, keeping her eyes down in the way that hired help often does. She slips into the bathroom and takes a handfull of paper towels. Then, like a delinquent collage student, heads into one of the stalls to clog up the toilet and get a bit of overflow that would require a janitor to clean up in between acts. Security gets on it immediately, as Act 1 is coming to an end. Panicked, they call for Macro, who is let into the women's room to clean the spill. And Macro obediently trundles up with his mop and his large trash bin, grumbling a bit under his breath as he dutifully starts cleaning up. Blackheart hmmms, "Those bozos seem really interested in the women's washroom. Should we take them out and stuff them in the closet?" Macro shakes his head. "They're just doin' their jobs. Don't want a big grubby ork smellin' up the ladies' room when the ladies are about ta use it, do ya?" he points out. "Rather not pick a fight with the guards until we're ready ta leave or we got no other choice. Be careful when yer gettin' out," he finishes and vanishes inside the closet. Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Blackheart, find an excuse to 'relieve' Macro. They probably won't notice him not leaving if they check in next and it's you doing the mopping. » "Fair enough," Blackheart shrugs her shoulders as she heads over to the door to get a little peek through to see what the guards are up to. Posh gives a smile to the grand dame. "How right you are," she says. "I'll admit," she says. "I am dying to meet the voice coach too. You see, I've been trying to…break in a little bit myself," she says. "But you're absolutely right. I need to show a little gumption." She winks at the lady. "So, you know where I'll be during intermission: doing exactly what you said, talking my way into a meeting, darling," she says. She turns back to watch the beautiful opera, making sure to get eyes through the opera glasses on the target…the one to be swapped with the actress. She also have a look on stage at the actual Carmen, the one likely slated to die this evening - Consuela's assistant. In fact, there isn't time— the first Act has come to a close. Gloria is rising from her chair. "Now, now. It was lovely talking with you, but I must insist that we leave separately. Meet me after the opera closes, and we'll catch dinner," She is telling Lost and Posh. "And you be careful," She murmurs, waggling a finger to Lost. "And /you/… Enjoy the actor for me," She adds, a saucy smile and a wink to Posh. Outside, people are beginning to mill about. Macro is in position, and Blackheart is free to move wherever she chooses. «Plot» Scurry says, "In Act 1, Carmen was flawless. But there's so much heavy costuming with opera that it is difficult to tell. This is exactly the sort of place where people do disguise not for shadowrunning, but for a profession. There is a mixture of magic and tech being used to achieve set design, costuming, and appearance… albeit not voice. The voices are truly those of trained opera singers." "I shall." Lost replies to Gloria with a smile and a nod, "Dinner would be lovely. And I can certainly understand why you must take your leave separately. Appearances to keep up and all that." She chuckles softly before looking to Posh, "Well then… shall we mingle? I'll do what I can to help you get backstage. Though…" She pauses, her smile shifting into a grin, "I doubt you'll need much help with that." «Plot» Scurry says, "In Act 1, Carmen was flawless. But there's so much heavy costuming with opera that it is difficult to tell. This is exactly the sort of place where people do disguise not for shadowrunning, but for a profession. There is a mixture of magic and tech being used to achieve set design, costuming, and appearance… albeit not voice. The voices are truly those of trained opera singers. (re for Lost)" Seeing the coast is clear, Blackheart slips out of the washroom and goes around the corner from the guards before saying, "No problem, Buck, I'll finish up with that floor for you!" (in spanish thanks to the chip). Then, she walks back into the washroom, now disguised as a janitor with the coveralls, hoping the guards assume they just didn't spot the ork leaving to get a hand with the mess. The high and mighty executive-class is mixing and mingling in the interim. The lounge is filling up, just as the hall downstairs had before the opera began. The conversation is mixed, polite, and not at all in English. The kitchen is open and serving drinks. Posh gives a smile to Gloria…"Very well," she says, with a bright smile. "See you after the close," she says. "Although, I'd love a way to contact you if something comes up," she says, genuinely liking the woman. All right. Time to engage and find a way to spike the target's drink. Considering the way she's been rumored to go for the wine, this won't be the toughest of tasks. Blackheart finishes up with the mopping duty and puts a little out of order sign on the clogged stall before getting to work tidying up the towels and everything else, doing her best to look the part of soemone who knows what opera janitors do during intermission. Lost doesn't speak Spanish or Nahuatl, so about all she can do is smile politely and stick close to Posh as the pair makes their way through the crowd. It takes some willpower but she keeps herself from indulging in any of the refreshments that might be offered during the intermission. The kitchen is open and the drinks are flowing. Don Caroligna is standing with his wife, Victoria, talking to a small group of acquaintances. Posh glances over at the Don, and then at his wife, Victoria. She nods to Lost. "That's our target," she subvocalizes. She smiles to Lost, looking around. "Wait," she says, considering. How is the staff dressed? she considers, looking around. The staff might be invisible to the others, but not to her, at least. The staff is dressed in black and red livery, the colors of the Opera house. They move amongst the crowd, careful to never lock eyes. Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Fuck. Looks like this is an abort. I can't see a path forward here. We've got a watcher here…magical security…fuck. Conseula didn't give us all this. » Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « what's wrong? » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « We've got too few people for this, too many moving parts. Macro already got noticed in the women's room. We'll get IDd if we move forward on this. » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « I don't see a path forward to pull off the drink spiking without employing a server. » Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « the plan's good. Just find a way to get her into the washroom, and we can do the switcheroo. You can karate the security mage in the back. » Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « I'll come down, I've got the monkey suit on anyways, lemme get out of these overalls. » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « You're making sure Macro doesn't get found in the closet, I thought. » The guards are way, way too busy with what they're doing. As far as they're concerned, Macro dealt with it and no one is complaining. Blackheart waits until there's a lull in the traffic, then slips into a stall so she can get out of the janitor smock. She wraps it up and sets it on the cart before heading down to the kitchens to fetch a tray with drinks. Once that's all set up, she circulates the room before heading towards Posh so she can spike the drink, then, once her target's acquired, moves in to offer her a fresh glass. Just as Gloria had done earlier, Victoria accepts the drink without so much as looking at Blackheart. Her husband begins to needle her, and she takes a particularly long sip while exhaling in exasperation through her nose. Blackheart continues for several minutes, refilling her tray with empties left around the room, making sure everything looks pristine before she heads back towards the kitchen to dump her tray. «She took it.» Lost watches the maneuver, but not too closely. After all, wouldn't want to put any undue attention on Blackheart. She seems impressed that it seemed to work so easily, but manages to cover it up by appearing impressed with something else. And, at this sort of gathering, there are plenty of designer dresses and expertly tailored tuxedos to catch her eye. « Now we wait. » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Whew. Good move, Blackheart. I don't know, something about these settings…or maybe thinking what would happen to us if we were fingered. All right. It's time for us to try to gain access. Lost, find a safe place you can give me overwatch in the astral. I need to…sneak by something I can't see, which will certainly be a new one. » «Plot» Posh says, "Do you have the blowgun skill, or would you default?" Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « these mooks ain't got nothing on us! » «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 1 for "Surprise!": 7 Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Looks like I underestimated how snooty these folks were. Good thinking, BH. » The crowd continues to mix and mingle. Act II is ready to begin, piped-in orchestra music plays, and the crowd begins to disperse back to their booths. It isn't a big crowd, so it's over quickly. Except for Victoria, who puts a hand to her stomach. She says something quietly to Don Caroligne, who frowns but nods. She heads into the lady's restroom; Blackheart can see her go. Blackheart is also alone in the kitchen, as the staff follows the rules of "last to leave has to pick up". The security guards are resuming their positions. Posh and Lost are free agents at this point. «Plot» Scurry says, "Blackheart, roll me Perception :D" Posh sneaks into the bathroom to change her appearance. She'll be having to sneak in a ball gown, not ideal given the clinking and shimmer. So she's going to adjust a few things, pull up the skirt and pin it a bit, and in general make it not such a voluminous hassle, before working to slip away. Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « And we're murderers, but nobody has to go to their death like that. Wait till she comes out of the stall and has finished up to clonk her. » «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Intelligence: 1 2 3 4 4 10 Victoria is in the stall adjacent to Posh. Posh has nothing to worry about with respect to covering up noises; from the sound of things, Victoria is not having a good time. Victoria is also in the stall nearest the door behind which Macro lies in wait. « I don't like the idea of leaving my body behind in this sort of situation…» Lost replies, « I suppose I could simply play it off as falling asleep in my seat. That might work… and I suppose I'll only be gone for a second. Alright. I'll head back up to the box. Be with you shortly. » With that said, the dark-haired elf heads back upstairs to do exactly that, settling into a comfy seat and making a bit of a show of nodding off. Poor thing must have had too much wine during the intermezzo. Leaving her physical form behind, she quickly locates Posh. «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "Roll me perception, por favor!" «Auto-Judge[]» Lost (#4658) rolls Intelligence for "Astral Perception": 1 2 2 2 4 4 Blackheart hmmms, and gets a couple of mixed drinks to put on her tray. She leaves the kitchen and, once out of site, drips the laxative into each of them. Then, heading up to the second floor where the two nosy guards are, sighs as she sees everyone's heading back to their seats. "Oh rats, I'm late," she sounds disappointed, "Now these will go to waste." She mutters to herself, then looks up and smiles at the guards. "Quiet afternoon, huh?" she asks, "Got time for a break?" «Auto-Judge[]» Lost (#4658) rolls Intelligence for "Astral Perception KP1": 2 3 4 4 4 9 «Auto-Judge[]» Lost (#4658) rolls Aura Reading for "Astral Perception comp.": 1 4 5 «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "It occurs to you that you actually have the perfect position for viewing. After all, you can see the stage from this box, you are all alone, and the opera even provided high-tech versions of those ridiculous magnifying glasses. In the astral, you can adjust them to see behind the stage and look at the watcher." Lost facepalms. It doesn't quite have the same effect in her astral form. She quickly heads back to her body, the physical and the magical knitting together. « I'm all alone up here and these opera glasses are pretty wiz. I can watch you, and the Watcher, from up here. Works out nicely, actually, much easier to stay in communication. » That said, she raises the opera glasses and keeps close watch on Posh. "Bloody hell," The guard says, wiping his brow. The two look extremely stressed. Aztech security is tight, especially when the people you are protecting also need to be protected from one another. "Yes I can. Alejandro, hey, come join me. A toast!" The two cheer and down the laxative-champagne into each. In a few minutes, they too are in the bathroom dealing with a screaming colon. And Blackheart was alone. The lobby is completely empty. Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « You don't have to do it in realtime. Can you do one or two glances in a minute or so? » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Wait a minute » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Are you telling me that you can see the Watcher through the opera glasses? » Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « Sticks, You're on, I'll meet you in the washroom. » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « What exactly is going down here? And keep a hold of those opera glasses. That thing might be worth millions. » Commlink-Memory> Lost sends, « Posh, the distances involved are split second jaunts on the astral. If that. And yeah, I can. They're pretty fancy, but the magnification is optical, so I can perceive astrally through them normally. » Commlink-Sticks> "Rog," Macro replies, hefting a spare mop and quietly opening the closet. Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « I don't know what that means. But I'm just going to go ahead and take your directions. » Blackheart smirks as the guards head off. The situation will likely be attributed to the ice in the mixed drinks, ever a problem in Aztech. She heads over to the door to the washroom and quietly slips in, getting ready to crawl into the janitor outfit once more so she can push the cart full of people to the backstage area. And then Posh, Blackheart, and Macro were alone in the bathroom. Except for Victoria. They can see her feet because she's out of her high heels, and her toes are clenched so tight she might break them. Her panting may say "I am in great pain", but her colon is saying, "Beach body!" Posh, her dress 'adapted' for sneaking, while still looking reasonable enough that she can and should be backstage, nods. The plan is that she will get into the utility cart with the target, but that requires…a little something. She pulls out her medkit, considers a moment, and programs the nanomachines in it to neutralize the agent she'd given her earlier. She then knocks on the stall door. "Miss? Your husband sent me," she says, holding a small vial in reach under door. "You'll feel much better." All else that is seen is her feet, in heels, and her cankles. Macro stands out of sight from the stall and waits until the groaning and gurgling noises stop. "Oh thank god." The vial is uncorked and gulped in a second. Victoria immediately sounds relieved. A few minutes later, and she is out of the bathroom stall. She doesn't even look at Blackheart, but extends her hands to be dried. "Be a dear and tell Simon that I'll be along shortly," She says in Posh's general direction. Her expression then turns to her appearance. «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Biotech: 2 3 3 3 4 7 Posh steps back a bit with a smile. "Certainly, miss," she says, making the 'miss' sound like she means 'ma'am, but you're too young for ma'am, so I'm going to say 'miss' with the same note of 'you're the boss.' With the situation under control, she consciously avoids glancing at the bathroom door, where a Macro is about to sneak out brandishing mop. «Auto-Judge[]» Macro (#5668) rolls Pole Arms/Staves - 4 (No WAAAAAAARGH) + Combat Pool: 4 vs TN 2 for "Night night!": 2 2 2 2 2 3 4 4 5 5 5 5 = 12 Successes Lost has the opportunity to enjoy a /bit/ more of the opera, but for the most part she just keeps her gaze where it needs to be, watching through the opera glasses for anything out of the ordinary on the astral. It's almost a shame she misses out on the events unfolding in the ladies' room. «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 3 vs TN 6 for "Resist": 1 3 4 = 0 Successes Victoria goes down with a thump. "Jesus Christ, just like a baby seal," Blackheart winces as the lady gets clubbed. She shakes her head and crawls into the janitor outfit, quickly buttoning up to cover her servant attire. Wheeling the cart over, she holds it steady so Macro can deposit the target into the bin. "One of you want to go invisible for the trip down the hall?" Posh nods at the falling lass, excitement showing in her face a little. "Very well," she says, with a grin, nodding to Macro. "Very well done," she says. "Now, fortunately she's not leaking anymore," she says. "We've got her secured now, and now we need just to make the swap in time before Act Four. She's on stage most of Act Four. Let's hope she's already chipped with whatever personafix they're using. Otherwise, I'm going to have to make some very impromptu…and very rapid…cybersurgery. Good thing I brought my medkit." Macro nods. "Will invisibility help with th'watcher spirit?" he asks pointedly. Posh nods at the falling lass, excitement showing in her face a little. "Very well," she says, with a grin, nodding to Macro. "Very well done," she says. "Now, fortunately she's not leaking anymore," she says, looking a little surprised at Macro's question. "I have no idea." Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Mages? Will invisibility conceal my aura, so the spirit cannot see me? » Commlink-Memory> Lost sends, « It will not. An active tattoo and an invisibility spell will both make you light up on the astral. Brighter than Vegas, Posh. » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Roger. Thanks. » "Not so much, Anyways, let's get rolling before those other guards finish with the biffy," Blackheart says. «If the tat is under clothing, we're fine» "Someone check if the guards are payin' attention?" Macro asks as he helps secure the cart. "As long as no one sees me leave the ladies' room I think we're solid… An' we shouldn't all leave at once." Posh turns back to Macro and shakes her head. "All right," she says. "Here's the plan…I suppose there might be staff on the way, so she and I are getting into this cart," she says, reaching down to start to heft the very unconscious Victoria into the cart. "Okay," she says, thinking for a bit. She begins treating Victoria's injuries now, concerned that Victoria will have to become conscious or at least manipulatable at some point. An inert Carmen won't be that useful for Act 4." Blackheart leads the way, pushing the cart. She peeks this way and that for the guards, trying to look like she'd need help with the heavy cart in case they're around, but otherwise just continues and lets Macro know the coast is clear on her subvocal mic. The second act has begun, and the actors have taken the stage. The servant's hallway contains only the same guard from before, still on his pocsec, still entirely disinterested in those passing by. He's already seen Macro come and go several times by now. Macro trundles out, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he makes his way to the service elevator to head back to the ground level. Blackheart pushes the cart by, heading down the hall towards the back where the dumpsters presumably are, she doesn't even look at the guard. Once around a corner, she gives the cart a little tap with her toe to let Posh know they're there. Now for the mage. Lost scans the stage level floor intently with the aid of her opera glasses, trying to get the rest of the team in her sights before then trying to spot the Watcher spirit. And, from there, hopefully figure out a route for the other three to take so that one of them can take out the mage. Fortunately for the trio, backstage is easy as pie to navigate. The chaos of the backstage is compounded a million times over by the fact that actors are mingling, costume people and staff are running about, and the drama upstage has nothing on the drama backstage. «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "Lost, I need you to make a private roll to me. Body vs TN 10. +roll body/10=scurry" «Auto-Judge[]» Lost (#4658) rolls Body vs TN 10 (to Scurry): 3 4 4 = 0 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Lost (#4658) rolls Body vs TN 10 for "KP2=scurry": 3 5 10 = 1 Success Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « Sticks, you wanna just clock the guy and stick him somewhere? » «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "When you come back from the Astral, you feel something cold on the back of your neck; something freezing. And then everything goes black." Commlink-Sticks> "Seems ta be the goin' theme fer the evenin'," Macro subvocalizes. Posh quickly emerges, and nods, taking point. "All right," she whispers. "Blackheart, I need you to guard Victoria, unfortunately. You're not quite as good in the quiet as Macro is," she says. "You got your guns though, in case we have to make a messy exit?" she asks, a little wildly. Emerged from there, she nods to Macro. "All right," she says. "We sneaking, omae?" «Plot» Posh says, "Blackheart is guarding the cart and Victoria while Macro and I, using Lost's directions, are going to try to sneak up on the mage while avoiding the watcher spirit, who is likely patrolling." «Plot» Scurry says, "Lost has gone silent." «Plot» Scurry says, "There is no more communication from her over comm." "We don't have guns for this op, just my judo!" Blackheart grins, making two karate chop motions with her hands. "It's busy enough in there, the watcher shouldn't notice you if you keep to the crowds, I bet that mage will fold like a cheap deck chair, then we're stuck figuring out how to make our star a star," she says, looking down to the woman in the trash bin. Macro nods at Posh. "Lead the way," he replies. Over the comm, from Lost's channel, a new voice emerges. "Good evening," It says. The voice is rich, luxurious, the vocal equivalent of a deep caramel. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am he who will be coordinating your efforts from here on out. If you wish to have your companion returned to you safe and sound, you will do exactly as I say." Macro barely manages to keep from swearing /very/ loudly. "Well, there's the inevitable double cross," Blackheart winces and shakes her head, pinching her nose. "I swear I'm going to only take contracts on johnsons who hire runners from now on." And so Posh curses herself. "Fuck. I made a mistake…I didn't cover the angles, and Lost was alone, and…" Despair surges through her as she realizes that she'd tried to call an abort, earlier. "Fuck, Lost, I'm so sorry." Irrationally, perhaps, driven by that spike in her confidence driven a mile wide by that mistake, she loses her cool, immediately rushing towards the box where Lost was, heedless of her cover, remembering just enough of herself, and not having to go too far off it, to act as if she's a woman caught in some sort of scandal, teary-eyed and difficult for anyone to intercept. Macro wants to swear /again/. Blackheart almost casts a spell on Posh as she bullrushes past, but that would definitely alert the watcher spirit. instead, she lets Posh look like one of the actors, rushing off in tears is something the watcher has likely seen a dozen times already during the production. «Fuck. Sticks, you in position?» She asks, quickly looking for the star's dressing room, she'll have to get the cart over there as close as possible to make the switch up. Commlink-Sticks> Macro takes a deep breath and tries to consider the situation, then taps his comm. "… Whaddaya want?" "I take it you are Consuela's people, no?" The man asks. "Tch. Senora Gloria is going around telling all of the one who would marry the bastard son of Don Caroligna. So I suppose I am staring at my fiancee right now, then. I wonder, how did foreigners like yourself know of Caroligna's secret?" Another laugh, deep, wonderful, like the first scoop of coffee in every commercial vid you've ever seen. "I have a job for you that I would like you to complete. I want Don Caroligna to be the one who ends Carmen's life." Carmen's dressing room is far on stage left. It's spacious and it's quiet; she has the full VIP treatment, apparently. Away from the noise and crowd. Security appears to be at a minimum, as the difficulty of getting back here was high enough to not warrant additional measures. Posh, meanwhile, is heading back through the lobby and up to the box where Lost was. Failing that, she's going to walk right into the Don's box, where Victoria was, to throttle him with her bare hands. Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « Is Don Carolinga an actor? » "I can see you now, belladonna. And I must warn you, if you do not comply, I will murder your companion myself. Stop exactly where you are. I do not care how you get Caroligna down there, but make one wrong move to myself…" The comm goes silent. «OOC» Scurry says, "Caroligna is Victoria's husband, the one responsible for catching Consuela's double agent and having her play Carmen." The Don, perhaps, gambled badly, and if he'd thought he'd get three puppets for this, Posh has heard of and seen enough such situations to know that Lost is likely already gone. After all, with just a voice and the comms and no proof of life, she has utterly no reason to believe him. And all that would be if she were responding rationally to such a situation. However, what she can do is rush, tearfully, red-faced, to his last known location and strangle him to death. Blackheart grimaces as the voice starts adding layers and layers of twists and turns to the plan. She tries to attract Macro's attention, then points the the guard and pantomimes a neck snapping motion, giving him the thumbs up. Any way they go, the guard's gotta get got. «Plot» Scurry says, "The only guard backstage is the security mage, who isn't guarding Carmen's room." «Plot-Page» (To: Posh) Scurry says, "The Lounge is empty. People are still in their boxes, but Lost is not in your box." Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Blackheart, where the -fuck- is she? » «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Sorcery + 5 for "Extended detect enemies 50m range. TN4 in sight, 6 out of sight": 1 1 2 3 3 3 3 3 4 4 7 9 «Plot» Scurry says, "What Force?" «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Sorcery + 5 - 2 for "KP 1": 1 2 3 3 4 4 5 5 10 10 «Plot» Blackheart says, "force 2" «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Sorcery + 5 - 4 for "KP3": 2 3 4 4 5 7 8 9 «Plot» Blackheart says, "7 successes" «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Willpower vs TN 2 for "Draining S": 2 3 4 5 5 8 = 6 Successes «Plot» Scurry says, "What's your Magic, Blackheart?" «Plot» Blackheart says, "it is 5. Extended makes it Magic x 10" Posh begins to try to analyze signals, using what is available from her router and the processing power of her pocsec, to begin to try to locate where Lost could be. She can't be too far, after all, and although her comm is dead it's not like the secure system can be easily broken into. If the signal entering the channel seems to be from the outside, she's going to try to isolate and remove the invader from the frequency, and then switch frequency. «Plot» Blackheart says, "so it /should/ cover the opera house" «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Electronics + 4 for "task pool, karma": 1 1 2 2 4 5 5 5 «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Electronics + 4 for "task pool, karma reroll": 1 3 4 4 4 4 5 8 «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Electronics + 4 for "task pool, karma reroll 2": 3 3 3 4 4 7 11 15 «Plot» Posh says, "There we go." «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 5 vs TN 7 for "Guard Mage Detection re: Blackheart": 2 3 3 4 10 = 1 Success «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 1 for "Background Noise": 2 «Plot» Posh says, "12 spent" The security mage does not notice the spell Blackheart casts. Or he does, generically, but is otherwise occupied. Having stormed up to Lost's box, and finding no one, Posh finds herself arresting her progress just as she is about to head off to the man who she had assumed was on the comms channel. Finding herself incorrect about that assumption, she reopens it, with an attempt to locate Lost as well. "If you want something done, you're going to have to start by showing us that you have the promised payoff," she comms, getting it back together. And at least she's near where the purported new target would be. "Put her on the comms a bit, and then we'll talk. After all, you've got to ensure our compliance, don't you? It seems…" Posh considers, as she has to both lie and ego stroke. "It seems that your capabilities were more than we expected. It seems that the game must change for us as well…but that does not mean that our enthusiasm would not be…most valuable." Her voice is stressed, but she hopes that'll cover up her twist of the lie. After all, what's opera without a little sobbing and drama from the heroine? «Plot-Page» (To: Blackheart) Scurry says, "No one has hostile intent towards you." Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « They're out of the building, I can't detect any hostile actors within fifty meters. Let's continue on with the run, this guy's full of it. » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « But he's not though. Lost isn't here. But if he doesn't mean us direct harm…perhaps he can be reasoned with… » Over the comms, a quiet chuckle. "Give me but a moment, rubia." Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « Sticks, can you take out that guard so we can do the switcheroo? » «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "When you come to, your head is dizzy. It's like having vertigo. But when the world reorients itself, you find yourself looking down at the stage. You are on the catwalk, tied up and comfortably seated. Across from you is Il Bastardo, whose face is obscured by a mask. He holds the comm unit up to your face. "Say something," He says. "Let them know that you are OK. But if you say too much, I absolutely will push you off to the stage below."" Macro ventures a quick glance over the top of his cart toward the guard in question, double-checking whether it looks like he's armored. The guard isn't armored, as such, but he is in the middle of a /very/ busy backstage. You're in the middle of Act II, after all. Actors, singers, and dancers are moving back and forth between set people and crew. Carmen's dressing room is unguarded from the outside, and is off stage left. There's no one there at the moment, as both of the stars are on stage. Posh will find the lobby empty. She knows where Il Bastardo's target is. «Plot-Page» (To: Scurry) Lost instinctively tries to stand up as she comes to, but finds she's unable. Il Bastardo is eyed warily before she looks around at where she is, gasping at the height. She sets her jaw, seeming to consider something for a moment before relaxing and speaking into the comm unit. Commlink-Memory> Lost sends, « I'm ok. » "YOu know, if we took that guard out, the cast and crew would probably line up to hi-five us, look at him, standing in the middle of everything, in everyone's way," Blackheart says as she gives the cart a shove, pushing it towards the dressing room they need to be in. "But, now's our chance to slip in undetected." Commlink-Sticks> "Could knock him out easy enough, but everyone'd see," Macro points out. "Maybe if ya could lure him into the bathroom…" «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "Il Bastardo is a relaxed gentleman with two goons standing behind him. They are facing away, as Il Bastardo appears to care for social niceties. "You have my deepest, most sincere apologies, bella donna. For being a pawn in my game. I do not expect anything other than compliance. If your friends pull this off, I'll even provide immediate transportation from the facility. No one knows the backrooms better than I. Why don't you share that with them?"" «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 1 for "Low: Bad, High: Good.": 3 "What the hell are you doing back here?" A corpsec man in a full suit with holsters is sitting in Carmen's dressing room. Her handler, presumably. The scowl behind his mirrorshades is deeply unamused by Blackheart and Macro's presence. «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "And anyways, your friend has only this opportunity to move Don Caroligna," Il Bastardo continues. "I do not want to distract from your enjoyment of the opera, but we are both of us on a timeline here."" Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « You and I are going to have words…but first, we will handle things here. » Posh is tense as she finishes speaking over the comms, thinking to herself. All right. Got to get not only the man, but his wife…well, I suppose that's easy. She's particularly ill, and she's asking for you. If the lobby is empty, there will be an opportunity to get him down to the utility cart where his wife is, unconscious, and make the needed swap. «Any way you all can pull out, and bring that cart up to the balcony where I am?» She looks around for anything to spill, any wine glass set aside during intermezzo, to give an excuse for the cart with the unconscious lady in it to be brought up by Blackheart and Macro before they all make the move to get in the dressing room. Blackheart looks at the man, then glances down to Macro hiding in the trash barrel of the cart. "What am I doing here? What am I doing here? I'm.." She tips the cart forward a bit so Macro can spring forward. "I'm taking out the trash!!" «Plot-Page» (To: Scurry) Lost shifts in her seat, glancing downward briefly before focusing back on Il Bastardo, "I would ask why I should trust you, but… seeing as how we're even having this conversation and I'm not rapidly cooling somewhere…" Pausing, she grins wryly, "I suppose I'll just have to take you at your word." That said, she leans forward to speak into her comm unit again. Commlink-Memory> Lost sends, « My gracious host tells me if you do as he asks, he'll arrange to have us all transported out of the opera immediately. » «Plot» Scurry says, "Just as a reminder: You have the wife where you need her (in the cart in the dressing room), Il Bastardo just wants the husband to be the one who stabs her." «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 4 vs TN 7: 3 4 5 8 = 1 Success «Plot» Scurry says, "You have surprise on your side." «Plot» Scurry says, "Macro, what's your first action?" «Plot» Scurry says, "Make that and then we'll see if you have to do inits." «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Initiative: 1 5 5 5 «Auto-Judge[]» Blackheart (#12120) rolls Initiative with a result of 14. Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « That's rather difficult to pass up, actually… » «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 2: 7 7 «Auto-Judge[]» Macro (#5668) rolls Reaction vs TN 2 for "Really?": 1 2 2 2 4 5 5 11 20 = 8 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 4 vs TN 2: 1 2 4 11 = 3 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Macro (#5668) rolls Pole Arms/Staves + Combat Pool: 6 - 4 (no WAAAAAAGH, geas not invoked) vs TN 2 for "Club-o-gram!": 1 1 1 3 3 3 3 4 5 5 5 10 10 11 = 11 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 3 vs TN 7: 1 2 5 = 0 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 3 vs TN 7 for "KP1": 1 3 5 = 0 Successes The guard gets a Pole to the face and, likely, will not wake up the same person he was. The dressing room is now empty but for the guard's body, and Macro and Blackheart. "Probably too much ta hope fer he's my size in tux…" Macro mutters, breathing slowly to release the adrenalin. "So.. Hide the bodies, then wait for the broad we need ta rescue ta show up, swap brain chips an' costumes?" "Nice hit, you play hockey as a kid?" Blackheart grins as Macro does something that would get him 2 minutes in a penalty box. She nods her head, "Bingo, let's stuff dude into the wardrobe over there. Does he have a remote control for the mark?" she asks, quickly looking about to see if there's a spare backup costume for the understudy to wear so they can do this as seamless as possible. Carmen isn't going to change herself— that's what hair and makeup people are for— but there is still time before Carmen returns from Act 2 anyways. "Not exactly," Macro grunts as he frisks the guard, removing communications devices and any weapons he finds before looking for something to tie him up with. Long distance to Posh: Scurry tickles. Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « Posh can you get down here, we have some costuming to do » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Indeed. But I have an idea. Take a quick photograph of Macro all over her, as if she's in the throes of passion with him. Make sure Macro's face is hidden. Then send it to my pocsec. » Commlink-Sticks> "… what." Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « I'm thinking it might be easier to get our new target to participate voluntarily, perhaps? » Commlink-Jett> Blackheart sends, « aside from being really fucking creepy, she's knocked out. He'll just come after whoever's raping his unconscious wife. » Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Well…maybe I need to have a talking to after this. » Posh shakes her head…she's instead going to have to lure the man outside another way. She makes her way over towards the entrance to his box, and then knocks, politely but firmly. "Sir! Your wife is suddenly dreadfully ill! She's asked you to come right away." She winces a bit…maybe they don't quite have that sort of relationship. «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Etiquette: 1 2 2 2 3 4 «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Etiquette for "kp": 1 2 2 3 4 5 «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Etiquette for "kp 3 spent. c.c": 1 4 4 5 11 11 While Macro ties up the guard, Blackheart gets the other body out of the waste bin and drags her over to the couch. "Okay, dolly, let's get you into costume," she says, looking over for whatever is set aside for the character to wear in the third act. Don Caroligna glances idly at Posh, his expression one of exasperation. "Victoria is what?" He asks. Rolling his eyes, he rises from his chair. "This had better be good," He mutters as he moves out into the hallway to the lady's restroom. Posh nods. "Oh, indeed, sir. I assure you that it is," she says. "Please, follow me this way. She…she says that she needs a new dress delivered, immediately," Posh says, looking around and helping to ensure that she is who she says he is. "But if you'll just follow me right this way, sir, she's in a staff bathroom for privacy." «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Negotiation + 4 for "CTP2, fast talking": 2 3 3 3 3 4 4 5 7 10 10 Don Caroligna follows Posh, clicking his tongue in mild irritation as he pulls out a pocsec. "Fine," He murmurs. That being said, he follows Posh, his eyes on the pocsec. Blackheart will find the diagramming necessary for hair, makeup, and spell design— it is the card listing makeup and hair artists use to style their clients in between Acts as necessary. The costume for Act 3 is on a mannequin. "That mean we'll be havin' company when she shows up?" Macro asks askance. And, voila, the suit the guard is still wearing does indeed fit Macro— due to the fact that the ork is "only" six feet tall. Blackheart nods her head, "More than likely, we can put them to sleep easy, though," she says as she begins to get their target into her costume, taking it dwon from the mannequin and then putting it on the woman. "How are you with installing control chips?" she asks, the one stumbling block in the plan, how do they get the target to sing in the opera long enough for the big finale. "I hope she has a good voice." "First time fer everythin'," Macro replies as he starts to strip the guard's suit and shrugging into it. "Hm, this should help…" The pocket lining of the suit jacket contains a pocsec and a small black tablet. It reveals the data used on the current Carmen: a Simsense chip, a reprogramming chip— the kind used in jails to make Better Citizens— and vocal modifications made by Talbot Taylor. Meanwhile, Posh nods to the Don. "Please," she says, this way," she says, directing him towards the staff doorway. "The staff bathroom is right in here, past this door," she says, ready to take a step forward and wallop the Dom as soon as possible. «Is there any information on how they're forcing these folks to participate in the opera?» she comms. «Nearly have an opportunity here…perhaps Macro could bring the cart back, so we can bring this fellow to the dressing room as well» His neck is craned forward into the pocsec as he texts a servant to bring another dress. «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Reaction vs TN 2 for "set up by fast talk": 1 1 2 2 2 4 4 5 10 14 = 8 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Pentjak-Silat + 5 vs TN 4 for "close combat, 2 handed": 1 1 2 3 3 4 4 4 5 5 7 = 6 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 3 vs TN 4: 3 9 11 = 2 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 2 vs TN 10: 3 4 = 0 Successes «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Pentjak-Silat vs TN 4 for "close combat, 2 handed complimentary skill": 1 1 1 1 3 3 = 0 Successes The tranq patch— and Posh's skills— go a very long way. Don Caroligna is down. Posh surreptitiously slaps that tranq patch right onto the Don's neck, and he goes down. «Target two down. Wonder what we'll do with the original Don Jose. Macro, you got that cart on deck?» she asks. For her part, she slams the unconscious Don against the wall, and begins to make out with his unconscious form quite passionately, no doubt creating the ideal cover for if someone doesn't look too closely. «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Etiquette for "The live audience woooooos!": 1 2 3 4 5 7 «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 1: 3 Alas, the lobby is empty and remains empty. «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "Il Bastardo smiles. "Ah, I see your friend has succeeded in her endeavor. Please inform her that there is a secret passage from the servant's kitchenette that leads below the stage and into the dressing room adjacent to Carmen's."" Commlink-Memory> Lost sends, « Posh, my host tells me there's a secret passage in the servant's kitchenette. It should take you under the stage and into the dressing room next to Carmen's. » «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "He continues: "She will have to summon the dumbwaiter and press for a secret panel. That will open into a crawlspace with, I must say, a tragically— or comedically? — short staircase."" Commlink-Memory> Lost sends, « Call the dumbwaiter and it should open into a crawlspace with a tiny staircase. » Posh looks around, fire in her eyes, in case there is any observer, looking for a door that is marked for the kitchenette, or otherwise has that knife and fork symbol. Seeing it, she gambles that nobody is on display and shoves the Don through the door, glancing around for the dumbwaiter, before she starts looking to stuff him into it, and then herself afterwards. «Keep it cool, okay, Lost?» *ping* The dumbwaiter opens. All that really separates the dumbwaiter from the secret access hall is a silk screen. By now, Blackheart has the new Carmen all dressed up, but currently with nowhere to go. She looks for the dumbwaiter door mentioned over the comlink, and makes sure the way is clear for body moving. "I guess we need a costume for the other guy, too," she sighs and looks to see if the two dressing rooms are connected. If so, she'll see if there's a guard in the other one as well. Being a real star, and not a captive held for a gruesome fate, the adjacent room meant for Don Jose is completely deserted. His is a bit of a mess— clothing everywhere— but this works to Blackheart's advantage. «Plot» Scurry says, "The secret passageway is a long slog down, then across, and then back up, but it does lead to the star's dressing room. Through the mirror." Arriving down the dumbwaiter with the Don, Posh quickly moves to drag him into the dressing room as well. "Well, it appears that the gang's all here," she says. "Did you take care of that mage and his watcher spirit? I'd hope to imagine we were doing all of this under the view of a water…" She thinks for a minute. "Or maybe…just maybe, that might be our Don in any case. Well," she says, "I got some good looks at the performance, and I have the disguise kit, so let's make our Don Jose. Then the last thing we need to do is incapacitate the real one, swap the personafixes, and we shall be good," she says, trying to see if there already is a chipjack on Victoria to slot the personafix, and giving a once-over of Blackheart's disguise. «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Disguise for "The Dom": 2 2 2 5 Blackheart slips into the other dressing room and fetches the menu items set out for act 3. When the coast is clear, she heads back to the first dressing room so they can do their thing in private. «Auto-Judge[]» Posh (#11342) rolls Disguise for "Victoria": 2 3 9 10 Fortunately, Don Jose requires little in the way of makeup, as there is enough professional material for Posh to work with that nothing requires a de novo routine. Victoria, on the other hand, requires quite a lot of work to fit into Carmen's 4th Act dress. «Plot» Scurry says, "Good on both rolls." And with that, Act 3 comes to an end. <Plot-Page» (To: Scurry) Lost is a rather well-behaved hostage. Maybe it's just her general good-naturedness, or perhaps she just sincerely believes Il Bastardo means her no harm. In any case, she communicates the details the man provides to aid the other members of the team, and also assures them that she's ok with, perhaps, surprising calm. Commlink-Memory> Lost sends, « I'm ok. Honest. With any luck, as soon as you make the switch, we'll be getting out of here. Together. » Carmen returns to her dressing room and, upon seeing Macro, says absolutely nothing. The door closes behind her. She sits in her seat. It's as though she were powering down. «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "Il Bastardo is also well-behaved, albeit genuinely concerned with the opera itself. "Tell your friends to call Talbot Taylor. He is the tech in charge of lighting and display. He is also my mole. Talbot is crucial for fixing Carmen and Don Jose's voices."" Posh nods to Blackheart. "All right," she says, her heart thudding in her chest. "Don Jose will be coming to the hero's dressing room. Carmen will be coming to the heroine's. We're going to need to take their personafixes and install them into our friends here," she says. "I'm going to go wait in Jose's dressing room," she says, "Keep this room secure, I suppose." And with that, Posh slips out the door, looking for a chance to slip into the men's room, where Don Jose will arrive. Commlink-Posh> Posh sends, « Remember. She'll be personafixed. You might have to clonk her too. » «Auto-Judge[]» Scurry (#1304) rolls 1: 4 Don Jose busts open the door, and it slams behind him. "Water," He calls out, his voice obviously loud enough to be heard everywhere. Commlink-Memory> Lost sends, « My host informs me that you need to contact someone named Talbot Taylor. He'll make sure Carmen and Don Jose's voices are correct. » Looking up as Don Jose bursts into the room, Blackheart hands him a bottle of water, "There you go," she says, glancing furtively towards Macro and his big stick. Posh, meanwhile, realizes that she's gone into the wrong room - a surreptitiously /non/ lead dressing room, where the riffraff of the supporting cast get changed amidst slop and filth. She quickly hurries back to the heroine's dressing room, a she realizes that the new Victoria's going to be coming soon, and they have to be ready for her. Carmen, the one to be rescued, is sitting in complete silence in her dressing room. Macro surreptitiously walks up behind Don Jose in that inobtrusive way shared by janitors and bodyguards, and doesn't swing at Jose's head until it's far too late for the man to see it coming. Don Jose goes down, which is a magic trick for Macro. Macro checks the body for a moment to make sure there's no permanent damage, then taps the comm number he was told to use. «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "Meanwhile, Il Bastardo is straightening up. "Come," He says, removing the rope from Lost. His bodyguards move ahead as he offers his hand to you. "The fourth act will begin soon, and your fellow runners need to be out of this building before it does. When the glamour falls, you had better be out of Aztlan territory."" Blackheart grabs the fresh body and drags it into the corner, and, after tying it up, dumps a pile of clothing over top so he's not spotted too soon. "Okay, all we need is for old Carmen to arrive, and we're cookin with gas!" "Pretty sure she'd be in her dressin' room," Macro mutters as he waits for the connection. "I thought we were in her dressing room?" Talbot is on his way! And he arrives, speedy and zippy, a thin little elf that's been wrung dry by years in the opera. He blinks at the body on the floor, but says nothing as he gets to work on Don Caroligna and Victoria. Opening both of their mouths, he clips what looks like a high-tech retainer into both Victoria and Caroligna's mouths. "We're good here," He says to Macro before promptly disappearing. «Plot-Page» (To: Lost) Scurry says, "You'll arrive with the bodyguards— but not Il Bastardo, who left to presumably return to his seat— into Carmen's dressing room." Posh arches an eyebrow as Talbot arrives. "All right, a little novacoke should deal with these lumps, at least to get them moving, and fortunately they have both a personafix and a vocal recorder to handle this situation," she says. "Now we'll have to have a few words with our…oppressive, mysterious benefactor at some point." She glances to the Don Jose, left unconscious, and shrugs - she figures he can make his own way out. With the Don and with Victoria both personafixed now, and with the vocal substitution devices, which is the best way she can think of, she turns to Talbot. "Well," she says. "I suppose we could count on a trap from you, but we need a chance to see our comrade again. So. Please lead us where you direct," she requests, arching an eyebrow. «Plot-Page» (To: Scurry) Lost gets to her feet, pausing to stretch briefly and rub at her wrists. With a nod, she follows behind the bodyguards, eventually emerging in the dressing room. The mysterious benefactor doesn't make an appearance in Carmen's dressing room at the moment, but Lost does. She's flanked by a couple of bodyguards, but she seems unharmed. "Come on. Our host said we need to be out of the building fast. Preferably before the finale." She jerks a thumb in the direction of the guards, "I guess these guys are gonna be escorting us to whatever transport the man's got waiting for us. And… looks like he's helped us a fair bit already, might as well take him up on the offer." Blackheart looks up as Talbot arrives. "Phew, someone who knows how these chips work!" she sighs, casting a worried glance out ot the ant hill where the guard's still taking up space. She pulls the janitor cart up and gets ready to exfil one of the Carmens, hopefully the correct one, her head's spinning so much. Then /more/ people show up in the dressing room. "Is there anyone in this opera house not in on this?" she wonders. The guards arrive with Lost. Their rifles and expression are serious. As Talbot uninstalls the personafix from Carmen, he reinstalls it in Victoria. And then he accepts a small, slim box from one of the guards before fitting that one, too, to Caroligna. "Well, it isn't the best work I've ever seen, but it's good enough. Tell Il Bastardo it's fixed and we're good to go in five," Talbot tells the guards. He doesn't even look at the Shadowrunners, but he does twitch visibly at Blackheart's words. That quickens his pace and he disappears again into the hallway. "Through this way, please." The other guard opens the bathroom door, reaches behind a full-length mirror, and it *clicks* open. Someone is going to have to carry Carmen, who is unconscious. Macro lifts Carmen easily enough in a fireman's carry, doing his best to look like a concerned bodyguard moving his unconscious principal to safety. Blackheart follows the group through the secret exit, letting Macro and Carmen lead the way while she covers them, wary of even more doublecrosses, complications or just plain old bad luck. The secret exit leads into a dark hallway. The orchestra begins playing the opening number to the final act, and sudden tension rises in the air. After a very long slog, the secret hallway opens into an alleyway a block away from the operahouse. A limousine is waiting for the runners. "Il Bastardo would like to thank you for your cooperation," one of the men says, as if reading a script. He even sounds impatient. "Please have a wonderful evening." Macro puts Carmen into the limo first, then gets in himself. "Let's get out of here and someplace ya trust ta have her checked over. The sooner we can stop trustin' Bastardo and check fer ourselves the better I'll like it," he comments to Posh. Blackheart follows Macro and Carmen into the limo and nods her head, "Agreed," she says with a tired sigh, "I still want to go take that guard out. The jackass was in the way of EVERYONE!" she complains, reaching for the complimentary bar so she can have a celebratory drink. Lost absently wonders at the number of secret passageways and hidden doors that seem to litter the opera house, but seems relieved when the team reaches the alleyway. She heaves a sigh, nods to the guard, and then slides into mobile luxury inside the limo. "Well then… all that's left to do is get paid. And, well, seek some temporary amnesia of a specific event at the bottom of a bottle of wine." Pausing, she grins, "Maybe two. We'll see how it goes." Shaking her head, she continues, "In any case, I'll feel a lot better once we're on the other side of the border." Posh gives a little grin, following the others out too, and bringing a likely still hazy Victoria with her," she says, finding a bottle of champagne. That's one to tool laser off the neck, using her fingertip, with a big grin, as she starts to pour around. She reaches forward to slap the rescued Carmen's cheek lightly. "Well," she says. "It's certainly lucky for you that you have such a good friend in Conseula," she says, with a grin. She then comms «Well, hello, good sir. It seems that we've reached our side of the bargain. Before you have our limouzine pull up to an AzSecurity station, consider this: We might be able to demonstrate the usefuleness we shoed you tonight…in the future. How about it?»